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He was still sleeping. The senior priest was there along with the Mother Superior from the convent. The room was full of flowers and unopened cards hand delivered by anxious parishioners. The prognosis was not all doom and gloom but until he regained consciousness, no one could tell the extent of his injury. Throughout the day, a constant stream of well wishers arrived at the hospital but none were allowed in the room. Sandra and Barbara kept a silent vigil, praying constantly. Each woman was engulfed in her own feelings of love, despair, and anxiety. * * * They worried over the condition of their friend, savior, confessor and father figure. But deep inside both of them, there was something else, an unnamed, indescribable emptiness and fear. These two loved this man in their own separate ways on so many levels. Neither could deny that some of that connection was physical. They would not put it into words to their dying day but they each knew that it was there, pulsing, demanding,. He was amazed to find how far down the mountain he had come: well into the upper foothills, not quite to the plains below, within sight of the forest.Then he saw the speaker come into sight, climbing from an open area below, between two large boulders. She was dressed in strange forest garb, her flowing hair was silvery blonde, and her face wore the unmistakable air of nobility. Both taller and more slender than the mountain women - even the prostitutes - she moved with a long-practiced sense of grace, even away from her native forest habitat. She carried something in her hand: a blade of sorts, but not made of bone. No manner of treatments could turn the whiteness of a bone blade into the deadly thing in her hand; it had the cold gleam of silver. Thomas knew as he saw her for the first time that she was the most beautiful girl his eyes would ever have privilege to behold. Then he saw he was wrong.The second female appeared, following closely behind the first. Her hair was a black as.
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